


Nobility

by crediniaeth



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-08-16
Updated: 2010-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crediniaeth/pseuds/crediniaeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world has changed, and you change with it. Yesterday, you were just a Pyramid player, captain of your squad. Today, you're a survivor. One of the lucky few to be on a ship with an FTL drive. You're never more thankful for a friendly match than this moment. If that one game had never happened between you and Caprica, if the team hadn't stayed longer than they did and declined the C-Bucs' offer to train together, you would be back on Tauron right now with your family. At home.</p><p>Your family.</p><p>You know what's happened to them, but you don't form the words in your mind. You block it out. You focus on the here and now. You focus on your team, but not before saying a quick prayer to Zeus, the one your ancestors called Thor, asking for protection for your loved ones. Loved ones you will never see again. Loved ones sitting next to you. Loved ones who may already be dead.</p><p>You pray.</p><p>Now you, Michael Ballack, you go and be a leader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a crack fic that sort of... evolved into something serious and awesome. For readers not familiar with the German National Football Team (i.e. die Mannschaft), visit [their wiki page](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/German_national_football_team). For readers not familiar with _Battlestar Galactica_, visit [the wiki page for the re-imagined series](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battlestar_Galactica_\(2004_TV_series\)). This fic was started after the EURO2008 football tournament and therefore features [players of that era](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/UEFA_Euro_2008_squads#Germany). The author has done her best to roll with the Mannschaft's punches and fit her fic to current personnel. This fic also does its best to fit with BSG canon and, as of this posting, has only been completed up to 3x05 - "Collaborators". I cannot guarantee that I'll have more after that.
> 
> That being said, many thanks to [sarkastic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sarkastic/profile) and [randomeliza](http://archiveofourown.org/users/randomeliza/profile) for their handholding and cheerleading through the early process of this fic. It's a great comfort to know that the two of them still believe in this universe, even if I abandon it for extended periods of time. ;)

The world has changed, and you change with it. Yesterday, you were just a Pyramid player, captain of your squad. Today, you're a survivor. One of the lucky few to be on a ship with an FTL drive. You're never more thankful for a friendly match than this moment. If that one game had never happened between you and Caprica, if the team hadn't stayed longer than they did and declined the C-Bucs' offer to train together, you would be back on Tauron right now with your family. At home.

Your family.

You know what's happened to them, but you don't form the words in your mind. You block it out. You focus on the here and now. You focus on your team, but not before saying a quick prayer to Zeus, the one your ancestors called Thor, asking for protection for your loved ones. Loved ones you will never see again. Loved ones sitting next to you. Loved ones who may already be dead.

You pray.

Now you, Michael Ballack, you go and be a leader.

\--

The news breaks over the wireless a few days later, after the fleet can stop for breath. Galactica is looking for pilots.

You find yourself conflicted. Your first loyalty is to your colony, but these men have been your friends for years. Leaving them for Galactica would rip your heart in two. You think back on your all too few years on Picon at the War Academy. You did well enough in your studies, showed promise in the flight sims, but you wanted the open air instead of the canned air found in a Viper cockpit. You found your open air on the Pyramid court, and you excelled. It was your domain, your kingdom, your empire to reign as you saw fit. The Tauron media began to call you "Kaiser", a noble title from long ago, to befit someone of your stature on the court.

But none of that matters now. The courts, the praise, the elation. All that matters is surviving.

Torsten finds you in one of the lounges on _Cloud Nine_; one that's out of the way, one where you thought no one would find you. Torsten has always had that way, like he knows what you think before you do.

"Micha."

You sigh; it's all you can do. "It's like… I know what's required of me. It's an awful situation, Torsten."

"Of course it is, and that's why we're going."

"We?"

"The mannschaft, Micha. We all know what's going on onboard Galactica. They'll need all the help they can get. We may not all be pilots, but there's work to be done. To be honest, I'm going stir crazy on this flying hotel."

"And Jogi's all right with this? And Oliver? Hansi? What about the young ones? They're all so…"

"We'll watch over them, like we always have."

You stay silent for a few moments and let Torsten's words sink in. These boys, they're throwing themselves into a warzone. For you, from what Torsten's insinuating. Some of them, like Marcell and David, they're just kids. They shouldn't have to do this.

You tell this to Torsten, and he just shrugs. "If they choose to follow their captain, it's their choice."

It is, and that settles it. You stand up from your comfortable chair and look around. This will likely be the last time you see anything that conjures up the word "comfort".

You throw your arm around Torsten's shoulders, thankful for the contact. "We'll do it together, then."

He nods. The two of you walk out of the lounge and down to Jogi's cabin.

It's time for a team meeting.

\--

The first few weeks are a blur. Your previous experience with a Viper gives you an edge over the others, and after a few crash courses with Starbuck, they throw you into your first CAP, desperate for the additional manpower. The others aren't so lucky, and get to spend more "quality" time with the holy terror you perceive Starbuck to be. She's good at what she does, great even, but there's a time to be cocky, and there's a time to be serious. You watch Apollo more than anyone else. You understand his analytical mind, the cut-and-dry approach he uses with everything.

A coping mechanism, you presume.

Your previous life follows you here as well, and it's not long before "Kaiser" is painted on your Viper beneath your name – Lieutenant Michael Ballack. You're made a lieutenant because of your former training, but you would rather be an ensign with the rest of the team that made the first cut: Torsten, Lukas, Bastian, and Arne. The idea was to stay with the team instead of excelling ahead of them – this definitely was not the plan. You resign yourself to the fact that they're on their way. They'll be up here with you, flying in the emptiness, searching for any sign of raiders in the dark.

\--

You collapse into your rack, exhausted, after your third double CAP in five days. Starbuck going missing, and the fleet following after her, has thrown the whole flight deck into chaos. You've been neglecting everyone and focusing only on your plane, your routine, your survival. Refusing the stims that are floating around the flight deck like candy, because you know what happens in the long run with _scheisse_ like that.

Chief Tyrol ordered you off the deck after you landed, telling you to find your rack before you collapse - that you were not going to crash one of his birds because you couldn't read your instruments. He gave you a standing order to not come back for at least two days, no matter what anyone else said, even Commander Adama. You protested weakly, knowing you wanted to, knowing you were minutes away from sleeping standing up, but you couldn't. Technically you're Tyrol's superior – the bars on your flight suit screaming a rank you didn't earn. A rank you threw back in the face of the Colonial Fleet all those years ago, but you knew if he saw you on deck, he'd send you straight to the brig. So, in deference, you smiled back at him and left the deck, thankful for the small permission that your body had been screaming for.

Sleep. Rest. Food.

Torsten. Lukas. Schweini.

Home.

A voice comes out of the near darkness. "Where have you been?"

You stare at the ceiling of your rack, the effort to speak almost too much. "You know where I've been, Fringser."

"Sorry, Micha. I had to ask."

"I know."

You hear a rustle of fabric and the metallic scrape of someone pulling back the small screen of your rack. "Scoot over. Get on your side."

You don't have the strength to protest, so you roll over closer to the wall and allow Torsten to slide in behind you.

He closes the screen and wraps his arm around your waist. His breath on your neck, his voice in your ear. "Sleep, Micha. I'll take care of you."

You nod slightly and fall asleep to the rhythm of Torsten breathing.

\--

"Baron! You've got Cylons on your six! Shake them off!"

The attack on the tylium mine is proving more difficult than expected, and that's putting it lightly. The Cylons are jamming their Viper's missiles and _oh gods this was not the plan frack scheisse_ and "Prince! Baron's still got those fracking raiders on his tail!"

"I'm on it, Kaiser. Just you watch."

You do watch as Lukas barrel rolls and starts toward Bastian, guns blazing and picking off two of the raiders as Schweini cartwheels over the last raider and turns it into a blazing orange against the black.

You have no time to watch the two of them fly off together, because something else catches your attention. "König! Apollo's flying too close to the mine! Follow him in! Keep him covered!"

Torsten doesn't answer back, but you didn't expect him to. He bursts nearly out of view, the triangular after burn of his Viper getting smaller as you continue to blast at raiders, all the while commanding your troops. You see the mine explode in the distance and it's Torsten in your ear amidst all the channel chatter saying that Apollo's all right, that's he's all right, and they're flying back to Galactica.

Picking off raptors seems a little like child's play after that.

\--

You lock the door to your racks behind yourself and Torsten. Your flight suit hangs on your hips and your tanks are so damp and you don't care because he was _brilliant_ and _beautiful_ and you're on such a fracking high right now and you don't give a flying frack about anything else but just being with this _gorgeous_ and _fracking insane_ man.

You drop your helmet on the table and grab him by one hand and pull him in. _You're here_ you think and _you're alive_, but the words don't escape. Instead, you crush your lips to his. You breathe in that scent that has always been inexplicably Torsten. You align yourself to his body, wrapping an arm around his waist and the other coming to rest in his hair, hair cut so short to accommodate the viper helmet.

You pull back slightly and look at him. "You. Don't ever do that again."

He gives you a small smirk. "You told me to follow him."

"I know I did. I just… it's just I…"

He kisses you back, slow and languid, like water lapping up against the shoreline. "Micha. It's all right. I'm here."

He is.

You relax slightly, the adrenaline from the firefight slowly receding, and being replaced by something else. Something _better_. You pull at his flight suit, wanting to be as close to him as possible. It's a difficult task, but working together, both of you find yourselves standing in your tanks and shorts. It's not enough, though.

It's never enough when it comes to Torsten.

He sees it in your eyes, and pulls you back to his rack, but not before eying you over. He gives you a smile of approval, and that's all you need. You follow him in. He's still smiling, and it's infectious. You mirror that same smile as he pulls your tanks up around your head. You lift up slightly and allow him to pull them off you, throwing them out the rack and onto the floor. He does the same with your shorts, leaving you bare.

He also sheds what little bit of clothing he has left, but you don't see where it lands. What you do see is Torsten.

Hard.

For you.

You don't have time to focus because he's kissing you again. Distracting you. _oh gods frack the cylons frack apollo frack starbuck frack every single fracking person onboard this fracking ship._

Frack them all.

All that matters is Torsten's fist around your cock and the sounds escaping from your lips and his lips around yours taking it all in. You reach for him, knowing in the small part of your brain that's still working that you don't want to leave him out, that it doesn't work quite right unless you do it together. You do your part well, because it's not long before his rhythm falters and you're coming apart at the seams and everything whites out.

\--

You're both roused sometime later by someone pounding on the door and the sound of laughter.

"Micha? Torsten? You in there? Open up! We got our hands on real Ambrosia, didn't we Schweini?"

"Prime liquor, boys! Time to drink up!"

All you can do is look at Torsten and laugh.

It feels good to laugh.


	2. Chapter 2

Finding Kobol changes everything. Again.

You've never been incredibly religious. Your knowledge of religion comes from studying old Tauron legends and mythology as a child. How Zeus was called Thor, how Hera was once known as Frige, and even how the mighty Athena was known as the Tauronese Freya. But all this, this planet with its ruins and President Roslin and her absolute certainty… you don't know what to think.

Jens is chosen to fly one of the raptors down to the surface. You manage to catch up with him on the flight deck before he leaves with the other survey teams. You haven't had the chance to talk to him much since they all decided to throw sanity out the window and come to Galactica. You brush your teeth together in the officer's head sometimes, a quick nod to each other in the halls, a smile here and there – nothing on the level you used to have before.

You actually take him by surprise. You clap him on the shoulder. He turns around and smiles. "Flyboy."

"Raptor junkie."

Another smile. "It's what goalkeepers do, I suppose."

You search for your first thought. "Have you… have you had the chance to look in on the others?"

Jens shakes his head. "Christoph flies with me when we're scheduled together; and I know Philipp's in CIC running communications with Dualla."

"I know. It's nice to hear him in my ear sometimes."

"And they've got Miro… gods, I haven't seen him in ages."

You nod your head slowly. "Any news from Jogi?"

"Not since the Quorum was formed. Who would have thought the remaining Tauronese would vote Jogi to the Quorum?"

"I voted for him."

"…so did I."

The two of you laugh together. It's not quite the same as it is with you and Torsten, but it's… warm. Familiar.

Welcome.

You pull Jens into a hug. He returns the favor. The two of you stand there, taking advantage of the world spinning around you, not noticing your calm amidst the chaos.

You see Tyrol, Cally, Baltar, Crashdown, and Socinus boarding the raptors out of the corner of your eye. He does as well. "I've still got pre-flight with Crashdown. Good hunting, Micha."

"Good hunting, Jens."

And then, after Jens gets into his Raptor, you say, "Be careful out there, all right?"

It's the captain in you that's never truly gone away.

Jens smiles back at you before he closes the hatch. "I always am."

\--

And then the Cylons arrive.

The news from CIC is choppy. No one knows the straight story down on the flight deck. Adama's been shot, no, he's dead. Apollo's in the brig. Roslin's been deposed. It's a fracking coup.

You don't believe any of it.

You feel the pull of the FTL drives spinning up and it throws your stomach like a slingshot. After the jump's complete, you hear Philipp's voice among the cacophony. "Lieutenant Ballack, report to CIC for mission briefing. Repeat, Lieutenant Michael Ballack, report to CIC for mission briefing."

You've never been asked to join in anything up at CIC. You're just a pilot. You've never involved yourself in strategy meetings or mission briefings or whatever goes on up there. You follow orders, though, and you run. You run by sickbay and see the melee of nurses patching up a single person, but you don't stop to see who it is. You just keep running.

When you make it to CIC, it all comes into focus. The blood smears on the center console. The absence of Commander Adama. The sheer terror on the faces of the officers scurrying around CIC. Whatever happened here was much worse than the Cylon attack.

You make your way to Colonel Tigh, who seems as shaken up as the rest of CIC. "Kaiser," he says, almost absently. "You were the captain for Tauron? The Knights?"

"I was, sir."

"And you've been acting as a CAP leader for a while?"

"Yes, sir."

"Kaiser, we've got a situation. We've jumped away from the fleet in the confusion of the Cylon attack, and we're going to have to jump back to our original position to find them. Gaeta's working on that, but when we do, we'll be jumping back right back into the fight. You've got that?"

You nod.

"It's gonna be your responsibility to keep the alert fighters on target, since Apollo's taken himself out of the rotation."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Apollo's mutinied and is currently residing in the brig! Gods, does anyone know what the frack is going on aboard ship?"

You look around and see everyone is just as startled at Tigh's outburst as you are. You also find you're the one who gets to answer him. "No, sir. We don't."

Your words take Tigh back a bit. He gruffs around and mumbles to himself. "What do you suggest that we do with the Vipers, Kaiser?"

You stand there. You process the situation around you. You know that you could handle the responsibility that Tigh is about to put on you, if you accept, but you're unsure if it's yours to handle. Apollo's the CAG. Sure, you've got a bit of clout with your own efforts, and you know for a fact that Torsten, Lukas, and the rest of the _mannschaft_ in flight suits would step up right behind you and follow orders, but,

"We'll need every man at his station, first off."

Tigh nods.

"Including Apollo."

And that grabs his attention. "Are you out of your fracking mind?"

You stand your ground. "No, sir. If you want whatever campaign we form to succeed, we're going to need Apollo at the helm. I'm a good pilot, Colonel, but the pilots will give their all for Apollo more than they will for me, even with my… accolades."

You watch as Tigh mulls it over. He doesn't answer you back. Instead, he starts to walk out of CIC, but turns back and looks at you. "Start preparing the pre-flight briefing, Kaiser. Apollo will be with you shortly."

As Tigh exits, you turn back to Philipp. He's grinning from ear to ear.

\--

"So, the word is that I have to thank you for my parole."

You turn around to see Apollo standing behind you in the briefing room. You were up behind the podium when he walked in and sat in the back behind the rest of the pilots. You felt like a cheat, performing the task he should be doing. You were just doing your job, but isn't that what everyone says before the end?

"I wasn't going to take one man's word for something unless I heard it from the source. I also knew we needed you out there if we're going to make it, sir."

"I'm not sure about that. That was a pretty good briefing."

"Thank you, sir."

"Please, Kaiser, it's Apollo. I'm not going to have my wingman calling me 'sir' constantly."

"Wingman?"

"It's only logical, Kaiser, since Starbuck went AWOL."

It may be for him, but it means separating yourself from _your_ team. Again. You know that Torsten, Arne, Lukas, and all the rest are more than capable of handling themselves, but not seeing Torsten to your left and Lukas to your right just…

"Thank you, Apollo. It's an honor."

"Be ready for pre-flight in 20. See you on deck, Kaiser."

Apollo walks by you and out of the briefing room. You do the same, but see that Torsten has waited for you. "You should be on the flight deck too, Fringser."

Torsten moves and stands next to you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders. "Apollo saw me, he knows where I am."

"With me."

"With you."

The two of you walk together down the hall. You stop suddenly and turn to him, your thoughts in a jumble. "Torsten. I don't know what will happen out there. Apollo, he wants me to fly with him. You'll need to watch out for Bastian. You know how damned cocky he gets up there. He'll do something rash and Lukas will follow right along. They'll get themselves in trouble out…"

Torsten silences you with a kiss, and you thank the gods that the corridor is surprisingly empty. You try to pull back, but he has you in a vice and won't let you go. The two of you end up backing into the bulkhead, your head lightly bouncing against the metal. He finally comes up for air, and between labored breaths, he says "Stop it, Micha. Just because we're not flying together doesn't mean the world is going to end. It already has."

You nod, saying without words that you understand. Torsten kisses you again, and it's all you can do to keep yourself upright. All the tension that's been building in you since entering CIC seems to melt away with this one moment. He whispers in your ear that it'll be all right. That they'll make it through this, and that he'll give you the best fracking blowjob you've ever had after this is all over and so you better come back or he'll have to start shacking up with Lukas and Bastian and no one wants to see that now do they?

You laugh, and so does he. It's what you needed, and he knew that, because he knows you.

You kiss him back quickly, take his hand, and start running toward the flight deck.

\--

The two of you find yourselves up in the air soon after, you to Apollo's right and Torsten taking your position among your CAP. It's one hell of a dogfight, but you all manage to come out of it worse for wear. There's no time to celebrate, though, because after you land on the flight deck and Galactica jumps back to the fleet, the ship goes dark. The comms die. All you have are your fellow pilots against whatever is on board your ship.

You fight. You fight against metal giants. You fight against your own fear. You swallow it and force it down and think of all your friends who are fighting the same fears you are. Your fear gives you strength. You follow Apollo and rescue President Roslin and blast at those fracking toasters until there's nothing left but shrapnel lying in Galactica's corridors.

And then there's Jens.

After the battle, Galactica is finally able to send a rescue party to Kobol. When it's announced over the comms that the rescue party's returned, you run to the flight deck. It breaks your heart to see their only charges are Tyrol, Cally, and Baltar. You see Apollo exit the raptor, followed by Tyrol. The chief comes over to you, reaches into his breast pocket, and pulls out a set of dog tags.

Jens' dog tags.

You barely register what he's saying as he opens your hand and lays the tags in your palm. Something about Socinus and morpha and Cylons and how they were all caught off guard and how Jens was caught in the firefight. He puts his hand on your shoulder. You hear him say your name, like he's said it a few times already. "_Michael_."

You look up.

"I know he was one of yours. He was a good raptor pilot. He died trying to save his crewmate, and he won't be forgotten by this crew. Cally and I will make sure of it."

You mutter a word of thanks before leaving the deck. You don't know where to go or what to do, so you walk the corridors. You knew deep down that none of you were invincible, it's just that none of the _mannschaft_ had ever gotten more than a scratch or a broken limb since this nightmare started.

You never expected it to be Jens that they brought back in a body bag, and it shakes you to your core.

You find yourself among the pictures, the fallen of the Twelve Colonies. You stare at all the smiling faces, the families, the memories. You walk to the Tauron wall and find the picture of Simone and the boys you added to the collage. You reach out and touch the small piece of paper that holds so much love and joy and happiness.

You'll have to find another picture to add to the wall.

"Micha."

You turn around to see Torsten standing with Philipp, Christoph, Bastian, Lukas, and the other team members onboard ship. "We heard about Jens."

You stand in front of all of them, dejected. "He was the best of us."

"We know," Lukas said.

You step into the center of the fold, no longer able to hold back your tears.


	3. Chapter 3

President Roslin's escaped.

Apollo mutinied.

Tigh is livid.

You fly your CAP - as temporary CAG. You take the responsibility now, since you know that it was Apollo's decision to leave the fleet. You don't slight him, because you know deep down that Tigh is doing the fleet a disservice by taking supplies by force. By forcing inexperienced pilots to take charge and make things worse. If you had the option, if your loyalty to your teammates wasn't as strong, you might have left as well.

Once Commander Adama is fit enough for command, you defer your status to his choice for CAG, the newly promoted Captain Birch. You don't mind that the Old Man removes you from the command; you certainly don't bear him any ill will. You are more than willing to just be in charge of your CAP. Adama informs you of your demotion in person, but instead replaces it with a commendation for your service during the Cylon attack. He gives you a smile and a firm handshake. He jokes with you about your loss to Picon in the Colonial Championships a few years back. How Torres' attack against Philipp was perfectly executed, and while remembering that play gives you his condolences over Jens.

He lets you know that you're appreciated.

Your demotion is the best thing that has happened to you since the destruction of the Colonies.

\--

And then there's Torsten.

He has been your reprieve in this chaos more times than you can count. He too has shared your views on the inadequacies of Tigh's command, confiding in you that he thinks it's the wife's doing, on which you agree.

You smile to yourself as you return to your rack after your meeting with Adama. As you enter the room, you find Torsten sitting in the highest rack across from the door. "What are you doing in Poldi's rack, Torsten?"

"Waiting for you, Balle."

You start unbuttoning your jacket in front of your locker. "Adama's demoted me back to CAP leader."

"And your replacement?"

"Birch."

"Birch? He couldn't strafe the broad side of the _Astral Queen_ if he wanted to."

"I know. I'm sure he has his reasons, though."

He jumps off Lukas' rack and walks over to you. "You're the better CAG and you know it."

You nod. "He gave me a commendation in its place. Said that I was an invaluable member of this crew."

"You are."

Torsten watches you, like there's something else underneath all he's been saying. "I didn't want to be CAG, Torsten. Not under Tigh."

"But you should be, now that Adama's back in command. Adama needs to see that. You know that Birch will frack up anything he touches. Did you say something to him?"

"No, it's not my place to question the Old Man."

"You're not questioning him, Micha. If you see a problem, you have to let someone know."

"I'm sure that Commander Adama has considered all the possibilities before making his decision."

Torsten stares at you, silent. "You've gone soft."

You turn from your locker. "Excuse me?"

Torsten crosses his arms. "You, Michael Ballack, have gone soft."

"I have not!"

"Then where's the man that used to stand up against Jürgen and Jogi just to prove a point? Or the man that would get into the face of a referee on behalf of a teammate?"

"That's… that's not who I am anymore, Torsten. That's not my life."

"I don't believe that. I know you, Micha."

Something snaps. "Have you seen where we are, Torsten? This is not the Pyramid court! We're not playing for trophies or cups or medals. This is life and death. If I don't do my job, if I don't follow the orders of my superior officers, people I… the fleet may be in danger."

"And if you do, the fleet will still be in danger! Micha, Birch is the wrong man for the job! You have the most experience out of all the Viper pilots. As much as I despise the man right now, Tigh must have seen something to make you CAG in the first place. It's not right for Adama to take that away from you."

"I'm not in a position to… Adama's doing what he thinks is best."

"Then perhaps he's not as fit as he thinks."

Torsten pushes past you to his own locker and pulls out his pair of boxing gloves. As he starts to walk out into the corridor, he turns around. "I was planning on finally giving Micha that blowjob I promised him. Tell him he can find me in the gym once he pulls his head out of his ass."

Torsten leaves. You don't have the heart to say to his face that he's right.

\--

Adama requests that you join him as part of his team to find the President on Kobol. You fly with Racetrack down to the surface along with the Old Man, Tyrol, and Roslin's assistant. You step out of the raptor and onto solid ground, and it feels like coming home. The grass around your feet feels like a dream you almost remember. The wind across your face, the smell of the damp earth… it overwhelms you.

It reminds you of what you were before.

You find Roslin and her followers: Apollo, vice president Zarek, and Starbuck among others. There are ones in the fold you don't recognize, but there is one in particular you do find familiar – a copy of Sharon Valerii.

You and Tyrol raise your guns almost in tandem. You watch as the Old Man lashes out at the cylon and stand guard over him after he collapses in his son's arms.

At the tomb, it's almost second nature to raise your gun again at Meier as his weapon is pointed at Apollo. You don't flinch as the Sharon copy takes down Meier, but you do beat Apollo to his target, another one of Zarek's compatriots. Lines are formed, and Sharon defers to Adama.

A fragile truce is formed.

You keep watch over the tomb entrance with Tyrol as the others enter. When the tomb closes without warning, the two of you, along with Helo, use all your strength to open it again, with no results. It finally moves again of its own volition some time later, and everyone exits with a smile.

And a road to Earth.

\--

Scuttlebutt travels fast around ship. It becomes common knowledge that you saved Apollo's life, even though you know that's not exactly what happened. You try to set the record straight, that you were just doing your job. You still get cheers and pats on the back, since any demonstration of machismo seems to get a rise from the flight deck nowadays. The one person you would like to see a reaction from is still keeping you at arm's length.

Torsten hasn't spoken to you since before your flight to Kobol, and it looks that that's not going to change. Not even your tale of glory and honor seems to have put a chink in the armor that he's put up around himself. Knowing him like you do, you decide to put yourself back in his good graces by any means possible.

For the first time since you've been on Galactica, there's no real activity besides the normal routine. You fly your CAP with Torsten, and on your internal channel you try to make small talk or at least say something that will require a response from your wingman. He responds with as few words as possible.

At least he's talking to you. That's a start.

A few days later, you pull some strings with some of the deckhands and locate one of the last known bottles of Tyrol's moonshine on Galactica. It's not Ambrosia by any means, but it fulfills its purpose. You leave it on the shelf of Torsten's locker with a note. You don't receive a direct response, and Torsten is still just as irritable as ever. The next day, you notice that the bottle has disappeared and your note has been wedged into Torsten's collage on the inside of his locker door – right next to his picture of Petra and the girls.

You sit across from him in the officers' mess. You flash that grin that made your female fans swoon. You offer him whatever dessert you managed to swipe from the galley.

None of it works.

And you're sick to death of it.

You leave another note, this time in Torsten's rack.

_Pyramid court. 2100. Bring your gear._

\--

He does.

You're sitting on a bench tying up your boots as he enters the room. He sits next to you and continues to give you the silent treatment. You're fine with it though. It's his pre-game ritual – saving the emotion for the pitch.

You stand while putting on your gloves and walk over to the center of the court. As you turn to face him, he stands and follows you, ball in hand.

The game starts. It's a blur of movement, you to your left as you roll across Torsten's side and throw the ball into the goal, Torsten as he dives to the center of the court and the neutral zone, the two of you together as you wrestle for control of the ball.

The game is intense. The two of you haven't played in a while, and it's showing. The two of you are sloppy in places, rusty where you once shined. It's worth the effort, the sweat in your hair, the sound of the two of you breathing. As you tackle him on the far side of the central neutral zone, you wrap your arm around his waist, reaching for the ball he has high in the air above you. He tries to work his way out of your grasp, to turn around and aim for the goal, but you hold him tighter and look into his eyes.

He does the same.

He stills.

You lean in and kiss him like your life depended on it.

He doesn't fight you.

You hear the pyramid ball drop to the floor and find that Torsten has wrapped his arm around your shoulders, bringing you in closer. You stand there for what seems like an eternity before your brain kicks in and you start to undo the belt that's barely keeping up Torsten's pants. The gloves and their bindings are making things difficult, so you unstrap them and throw them away, focusing only on Torsten and how you've missed this.

How you've missed him.

You find yourself on the floor. You see Torsten underneath you, eyes shining. You smile and he returns it in kind. "You've been a complete ass, Torsten."

"You deserved it."

You take the time to untie his boots and he shuffles out of them and his pants at the same time. It's not the most arousing or the most sensual moment, but it doesn't matter, because it's the two of you. The two of you have played together, fought together, bled together. You know this man inside and out, and he knows you.

You'll make up for the little bit of awkwardness with what you have planned for him next.

Pulling off Torsten's tanks, you also take his hands and hold them firmly above his head. Your control of the situation is fraying, and it's all you can do to not just take him there and then. You duck your head down and kiss him roughly, your tongue giving him a preview of what he can expect later.

Torsten strains against you, his hands pulling against yours, his body as tense as a bow seconds away from release.

Which is right where you want him.

Since you obviously got Torsten naked for a reason, you take advantage of your position and use your other hand to stroke his cock. That gets his attention and he starts to thrust in time with your movements. You smile as he starts to lose his control, and you keep the rhythm going, not wanting it to stop. You watch as he bites his lip and tries so hard to break free from your grip, to have the contact you can tell he needs so desperately. You don't let him go, you let him suffer. You whisper in his ear how you are going to fuck him so hard he'll feel you inside him weeks later, that he's such a cocktease, how he's so gorgeous and amazing and _yours yours yours_...

That breaks him. He comes all over your tanks. You leave him panting, trying to catch his breath. Dead to the world.

You let go of Torsten and kneel over him, stripping off your tanks and pants. You take the time to quickly prepare him, opening him up without real warning. The real test comes when you lean over and are just about to enter him. Without any sort of lubrication, it's just as difficult for you as it is for him, but it's not as if you planned this.

Much.

As you slowly enter Torsten, inch by painfully exquisite inch, you can feel Torsten tense up and relax, doing his best to make it easier for you. It helps some, and after working together, you find yourself fully inside him. The two of you just stay there in that moment, not moving, barely breathing, just being.

And then you move.

It's small thrusts at first, just enough to get a rhythm going. You watch as Torsten's face changes with each movement, but each one is beautiful, and you're the one causing it. That one thought causes you to lose your control for a moment, and Torsten keens with the change in momentum. Your control falters even more, the one thought a catalyst to a dozen others, each of them involving you and this man you trust with your body, mind, and soul.

You can't help it as the wave crashes over you. Your orgasm comes at you like being shot out of a launch tube, but you continue to pound into Torsten until you hear his own release tear itself from his throat. It's only then that you collapse on top of him, the two of you sticky with sweat and come.

Your breathing slows. Your heartbeat returns to normal. You open your eyes and see Torsten staring back at you, offering the smallest of smiles. He chuckles. "You're heavy as Hades, Micha. Get off."

You laugh. "After all that, that's what you have to say?"

He tilts his head slightly. "Well, I've had better."

"From who?"

"Baltar. Gives great head."

That gets an even bigger laugh out of you. You lean forward and kiss him. "Get dressed, Fringser. You're out of uniform."


	4. Chapter 4

You've become unaccustomed to the spotlight. That reporter and her camera man have found you and the assembled members of the _mannschaft_ in the break room. They spoil your game of Triad with Christoph, Miro, Bastian, and Arne.

"Michael Ballack, I had no idea."

The cameraman shines the light in your face. The reporter, D'anna, you've seen her around the ship. You've managed to escape her notice, her focus on Adama and Roslin and the frackup that was the _Gideon_.

But here, you're cornered.

"How does the captain of the Tauron Knights end up in a flight suit?"

"The same way anyone else does, hard work."

"But what brought you to Galactica? I'm sure that your fans would be pleased to hear that the Kaiser of Tauron still reigns supreme."

"I'm just another viper pilot here." You wave a hand around the room. "The same as everyone else."

"I have a hard time believing that."

"I don't flaunt who I was back then. It doesn't matter here. I still have pride in my colony and the heritage it's given me, but this place is my home and these men and women are my new family. How many goals I scored against Ronaldo or Beckham makes no difference here." You raise a finger to her. "And I would put it to you to remember that, Miss Biers."

She gives you a look like she wants to eat you alive and moves onto the next pilot in view. Apparently you didn't give her the sound bite she was looking for.

You return to your Triad game, laying down Full Colors. You collect your spoils of war – a ring, a small bottle of ambrosia, and a few cubits.

\--

She uses the clip anyway.

\--

This isn't right.

You find yourself flying toward your former shipmates from Galactica, guns trained on them like they're… the _enemy_.

Why you're up here, Helo and Tyrol's summary court martial, has your blood boiling. You may not have the warmest of feelings toward the Sharon copy sitting in Galactica's brig, but you know for a fact that she does not deserve the fate that would have befallen her had Lieutenant Thorne carried out his mission. No one, not even a cylon, should have to go through something as horrific as… rape.

You want to be on the other side of this fight – flying in the darkness to save your friends, not defending the ship that currently holds their lives in the balance.

You wish Pegasus had never been found. You wish that Cain hadn't transferred the entire mannschaft to her fracking ship. Or that she had put enough trust in you to keep you as a CAP leader, because right now there's only the smallest amount of fleet loyalty that's preventing you from ordering your vipers to fly into Galactica's squadron and set their sights on Pegasus.

The more you think about it, the more this whole fracked up situation disgusts you.

Torsten can see it. He's been watching you since the two of you launched from the Pegasus flight deck. Watching you as you barely keep your anger in check. He shakes his head at you, like he knows what you're thinking before you do.

The soup you find yourself in makes matters worse. Vipers coming from all directions, all sides. Hot Dog flies past on your right, trying his best to keep out of your flight path. It's a gods awful mess, and you know it'll end badly if something doesn't happen right the frack now.

And then the call comes.

Unidentified DRADIS contact. Engage the enemy.

The _real_ enemy.

You do it gladly.

\--

Kara's voice on the comm sounds like an angel.

\--

Thank the gods.

It's over. The cylon resurrection ship has been destroyed.

Mission accomplished.

It's a shock to hear of Admiral Cain's death. You hardly knew her, but the affect her death has on the crew of _Pegasus_ is immediate. Her funeral is a somber occasion. Afterwards, you watch as Torsten and Kara share a few words with each other before Kara reaches out and pulls him into an embrace.

You find Torsten in his rack a few hours later, staring up at the ceiling. You quickly remove your sash and uniform and climb into the rack with him, closing the curtain behind you. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. No… I'm not quite sure."

"What did you and Kara talk about?"

"I told her that I… agreed with her. What she said about Cain."

"You're not serious, are you? She… her orders nearly had us in a dogfight with our friends. Torsten, she was going over the edge."

"She might have been, Micha, but she was… real military. Galactica is so… emotional sometimes. Being here, being on Pegasus under her command, it felt good to not worry about cylon prisoners or Tigh's mood swings. It felt good to just… do my job."

You wrap an arm around his waist and pull yourself in. "That's what makes it real, Torsten. You made me remember that."

"I know, I just… she was a good soldier, Micha. We need more soldiers like her if we're going to make it."

You lay there, mute, unable to agree. Instead, you nod. It's an understanding between the two of you – agree to disagree.

The two of you fall asleep together, like brothers.

\--

David is the next one you lose.

With Jens, you felt separated. Removed. Empty. With David, you rage at everyone, with Torsten taking the brunt of your anger. David's death at the hands of that fracking raider was senseless. It was without purpose.

It wasn't fair.

Torsten lets you vent your frustrations at him. He doesn't get upset, he doesn't lash back. He takes it. When you finish, when there's nothing left but tear-stained cheeks and hoarse voices, he takes you in his arms and holds you.

Knowing he's there, that he's real, that he's standing in front of you…

"I can't lose anyone else, Torsten."

_I can't lose you, Torsten._

"You don't have control over who lives and dies."

He's right, but he has to be wrong. "Didn't we say we were going to watch over them? The young ones?"

"We did, and we are. Scar is… vicious. There's nothing we could have done."

"I could have been up there! I could have done… something."

"David knew what he was getting into when he got into that flight suit. He knew the risks, Michael. We all do. Even you."

You stand there, silent.

So does he.

\--

You're going back.

Kara asks you to join her on her rescue mission to Caprica. She quickly explains the plan to you. You think she's out of her fracking mind.

You tell her so. You tell her there's no guarantee that the people she met there are still alive.

She smiles.

She says she's already asked Torsten and he's agreed.

She knows your weak spot.

\--

You scour the ship looking for him.

Your mind races. Torsten is his own man, he can make his own decisions, but this scares you. You agreed to go when Kara asked, but against your better judgment, and all because of Torsten. You know deep down that if something happened and you weren't there, you would never forgive yourself. It's a given – he goes, you follow.

You also know he'd do the same. It's how you work.

Both of you.

You come across him in one of the lower corridors. He's been running. He stops in front of you. "She told you."

"She asked me, the same as you."

"Are you coming?"

"Of course I am."

"Because of me?"

"What do you think?"

"You don't have to."

"Yes, I do."

The look on Torsten's face changes. "Kara has a good plan, Micha. If there are people back on Caprica that need our help, we shouldn't stand by and let them die."

"You shouldn't have to go."

"I want to."

You search for the right words. "I'm asking you to stay, Torsten. Tell Kara you changed your mind."

"Would you still go?"

"Yes."

"In my place?"

"Yes."

"Then my answer's no. Stop being the _Kapitan_, Micha."

He reaches for your arm and squeezes it. "I'll have your back, you'll have mine. What more do I need?"

\--

Sam Anders finds you and Torsten while waiting for the Cylons to make up their fracking minds. He grabs you by the forearm and squeezes. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Ballack." He nods over at Torsten. "You too, Frings."

"It's good to see you too, Anders," you say. "Kara mentioned that members of the C-Bucs were part of the resistance, but we didn't expect that you _were_ the resistance."

"We were lucky. That training we invited you to kept us alive. If it wasn't for that, we'd have been in the city when the bombs fell."

"And if it weren't for your invitation, we would have been on Tauron when the cylons attacked," Torsten adds. "We should thank you. Your team saved our lives."

"Did… did anyone else from the league make it? Ramos? Agger? Cannavaro?"

You shake your head. "Not that we're aware of. All of us went to Galactica not long after the original jump. We haven't been out in the fleet since."

"Jogi's a member of the Quorum for Tauron." Torsten says. "Olli's in there too. I'm sure that if there were other players out there, they would've told us."

Anders nods. "It's a shame. All those good men…"

"And women," you say. "I know our team was unique."

"When we get back to the fleet, we're going to remember them properly."

Both you and Torsten nod in agreement. It's something that should have been done ages ago, but when you're fighting for your survival, some things get put to the wayside.

\--

The fleet is in shambles. Moral is lower than you've ever seen it. Lee's let himself go, and that alone speaks volumes. You wander the decks of _Pegasus_, the corridors reverberate your footsteps louder than you would like. It only magnifies the lack of crew that both _Pegasus_ and _Galactica_ now contain.

When the colonization was announced, you called a meeting for the remaining members of the _Mannschaft_. You heard their case, heard their excitement over New Caprica, and you couldn't fault them that. They wanted a chance to start a new life, something that didn't revolve around CAPs or the galley or the head.

Open air.

Growing things.

It almost made you want to try it out yourself.

Lukas and Bastian left. So did Kevin, Christoph, Mario, and so many others. After it was said and done, the only remaining members of your team left in the Fleet were yourself, Torsten, Thomas, Philipp, Per, Miro, and Rene.

Seven.

Out of twenty-one.

What should have been twenty-three.

You promised yourself you would make it work. It had to; there were no other options.

\--

Lee promoted you and made you CAG of _Pegasus_ when Kara scuttled out of the Fleet.

Captain Michael Ballack.

It was a privilege at first, leading the Pegasus air group, but as more and more pilots went down to the surface, it felt like sand running through your fingers.

You keep in constant contact with Kat over the wireless now, trying to coordinate between the two of you the CAPs you need to protect the fleet. It's a challenge. The fleet has become lax. They've become complacent with lack of action.

You do your best to stay fit; as much as you respect Lee and his command, the sedentary lifestyle he's taken up makes you even more conscious of the fleet's shortcomings. You combat this by setting up matches between the rest of the _Mannschaft_ to keep your senses sharp, to keep them upbeat, to show that peace time is no excuse not to be prepared.

There are moments when you think that the people down on the planet have it easy.

And then they Cylons come.

And the fleet jumps away.


End file.
